


TCBRRG Extras

by magniloquentChanteuse



Series: And the Day Turns to Night [2]
Category: Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: Anxiety, Avengers worrying about Spider-Man, High Heel Emoji, Spider-Bear, Teddy-Man
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-26
Updated: 2018-12-05
Packaged: 2019-05-13 21:58:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 16,912
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14757056
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/magniloquentChanteuse/pseuds/magniloquentChanteuse
Summary: One-shots and POV changes for my story This Could Be Really, Really Good or Really, Really Bad. You should probably try to be current on that before reading this one. I don't think it'll make much sense, otherwise, to be honest.





	1. Therapy Time with Spider-Bear

**Author's Note:**

  * For [noiter00123](https://archiveofourown.org/users/noiter00123/gifts).



> This is for my buddy noiter (https://archiveofourown.org/users/noiter00123/pseuds/noiter00123) who specifically requested it, haha. If yall want to see more things like this... let me know. I'm open to requests. :)

**April** **13th**

 

The music wasn’t loud enough, but JARVIS complained about the likelihood of damaging his hearing if he made it louder, so he let it be.

 

Tony was working.

 

He gritted his teeth, shooting a glance over towards one of the shelves on the wall, where a certain innocuous item sat. Brighter than most of the equipment surrounding it, it stuck out like a sore thumb. It  _ beckoned _ him. He tore his eyes away, huffing with annoyance.

 

Tony was  _ trying _ to work.

 

He glanced at the clock. It had been an hour since he’d called the kid, but there hadn’t been any return yet. He needed to talk to the kid about the hairs in the drive: he’d discovered that they belonged to four of the Avengers. He needed to know where the kid had gotten the drive. He needed to know everything the kid knew about this. But there hadn’t been so much as a single beep over the comms system to let him know that Spidey was coming.

 

Tony looked over at Spider-Bear on the shelf, opened his mouth, then snapped it shut again, irritation building in his chest.

 

He was not going to talk to the fucking bear. Not after last time, when Natasha had caught him doing it. She’d told the whole damn team, that  _ nosy, conniving— _

 

Tony cut off the thought before it could finish. He was pretty sure that Natasha couldn’t read minds, but… it was better to play it safe. He’d decided that a  _ long _ time ago.

 

Tony was working.

 

He tapped a screwdriver rhythmically against the countertop he was working on, staring down at a mass of wiring. It was hard to concentrate, he told himself, when he was also thinking about whoever was collecting Avenger DNA. Whatever they had in mind for it was no doubt nefarious. And they certainly didn’t want  _ this _ DNA to get into the wrong hands, he thought, mind on Bruce and Thor, most specifically.

 

Tony spun abruptly to face Teddy-Man.

 

“You know,” He pointed the screwdriver accusingly at it. “If you would just answer your damn comm, I wouldn’t have to sit here and stew like this.”   
  
The bear, predictably, said nothing. Tony continued.

 

“I don’t know what the hell is up with you, kid,” Tony complained, eyes narrowed as he stared at the plush, spider-themed toy Spidey had gotten him for Christmas. “It’s not difficult to just  _ tap your damn comm _ . Or, if you’re not coming because you’re busy, just pick up the phone. Give me a call. Have some courtesy. Kids these days, honestly.” He spun back to face his workbench, petulantly prodding some wires to the side with the handle of the screwdriver. It took another few moments for him to get tired of that and whip his head back around.

 

“And another thing,” He continued. “If you weren’t so secretive about who you actually are, we wouldn’t have  _ any _ of these communication issues. What do you think we’re going to do, blab? Not likely,” He snorted, tossing the screwdriver down onto the table as he stood. “I get it, you know?” He crossed the room to pick up the bear, holding it tightly in two shaking hands. Damnit, he thought, feeling his anxiety spiking in his chest. He needed to take a fucking Xanax. “I get that you want to be able to live a normal life, without having supervillains shooting up your apartment, or whatever, while you’re trying to sleep. You think I don’t want that, too?”   
  
He strode back towards the workbench, spinning again to head back towards the shelf when he reached it. “I’m sure it’s great, being able to sleep at night because people don’t know where you live. Hell— I had my house blown up, a couple years ago. Blown right off a cliff, Spidey. You think I don’t wish I could take that back? You think I don’t wish that people didn’t know where I lived? I know how much it sucks, man, I  _ get it. _ I really do. But you need to get that none of us are going to slip up. Even under torture, kid, none of us would give away who you are. We just want…”

 

Tony groaned, pacing back and forth across the lab. “We just want you to be safe, you stupid kid, and this whole secret identity thing is a lot more dangerous than you seem to think it is. If something happens to you— if you just disappear, one day— how will we ever know what happened to you? We’ve been through this, Spidey,” He looked down at the bear, heart racing in his chest. “Fuck, kid. I worry about you, you know?”

 

He paused to gingerly set Spider-Bear on the workbench, crossing his arms over the arc reactor in his chest as he stared down at it.

 

“It would be a lot easier if I just gave up on you,” He informed it bleakly. “If I just decided not to give a shit. After all, you’re an adult, you can take care of yourself.” He stared down at the silent toy before lifting a hand to rub it tiredly against his eyes.

 

“Maybe I’ll just check the tracker,” He muttered to himself. “I’ll just… take a peek. He wouldn’t mind. And even if he did, he would probably never even find out. It’s for his own good. JARVIS—” His voice cut off as he gritted his teeth again. He shouldn’t. He promised that he wouldn’t.

 

“Yes, sir?” JARVIS prompted him, the music quieting so that the soft voice could be heard over it.

 

“Shut off the music, buddy. Thanks.” The lab fell into silence as JARVIS obeyed, and Tony sat down heavily. “What are we going to do with you, Spidey?” Tony sighed, leaning heavily on one hand as he frowned bleakly at it.

 

“And here I thought I was your exclusive therapist,” Bruce said, startling Tony as the man pulled up a chair next to him and settled into it. “But, hey, you’re seeking help. That’s really all anybody can ask.”

 

Tony stared at him as he waited for the doctor to say more, but for a few breathless seconds all he did was stare morosely at Teddy-Man.

 

“He still hasn’t answered his comm?” He asked finally, and Tony mutely shook his head. No sense pretending that he wasn’t worried. He’d been caught red-handed. “Well, don’t worry. I’m sure he’s fine. Have you checked the news?” Tony shook his head again. “Maybe there’s something there. JARVIS— let us know if anything new about Spider-Man comes up, would you?”

 

“Of course, sir,” JARVIS agreed pleasantly.

 

“Alright.” Bruce reached out to pick up Spider-Bear as Tony watched. “You’re worrying Tony, Spidey,” He told it sternly, surprising Tony. “So you’d better swing by soon.” His voice switched into a higher, squeakier register as he nodded the bear’s head and said “I will!”

 

Tony burst out laughing, startled by the rare display of immaturity from Bruce. His friend joined in, shooting a bright smile over at him that soothed some of the raw nerves he was carrying in his chest. “Let’s go upstairs,” Bruce suggested, still giggling over his own goof as he set down the bear. “I cooked. You hungry?”

 

“I could eat,” Tony agreed, feeling a little lighter. Maybe he’d take his meds while he was at it, he mused silently. The two men stood together and headed for the elevator, Tony slinging a companionable arm around Bruce’s shoulders.


	2. Concerning Spider-Man

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An alternate opening to chapter 16 that got scrapped. It definitely still occurred in the canon of this story, though, so I might as well give you a peak at what some of the Avengers have been thinking about all this.

“I think Spidey is in trouble.”

 

Bucky stared across the conference room table at Romanoff. “What makes you say that?” He asked slowly, picking through what he’d observed from the young hero lately. It seemed like the kid was improving, in his opinion. He was still going to therapy regularly. He was eating and sleeping on a healthier schedule. He seemed less prone to his fits of melancholy than before, although he still spent more time than Bucky liked gazing pensively out the window. He spent a lot of time with Thor, a teenager named Jessica, and, surprisingly, Deadpool.

 

Could that be what she was talking about? Deadpool? It wouldn’t be out of the realm of possibility, he decided. They’d all been somewhat shocked to find the mercenary passed out on their couch early one morning after the end of a mission, but with Spidey and Thor both snoring in the same room, it was clear that he had been there on friendly terms. And based on the amount of times he’d showed back up at the tower since, Spidey and he seemed to have settled their differences, whatever they were.

 

“What do you know about his identity?”

 

Bucky frowned across the table at her. This had come up a few times over the past months, and it always caused tension between them. Romanoff suspected that Bucky knew more about Spidey’s identity than he was letting on, but he refused to elaborate. He wouldn’t tell her that he’d heard him talking without his mask enough to remember his voice. He certainly wasn’t going to tell her that he had recognized it when Spider-Man and Peter Parker had sat side by side in the Avengers Tower.

 

The look in her eyes was steely, but he wasn’t about to rat the kid out. Bucky trusted him: he might not know what was going on, exactly, but the kid was basically Steve Jr, and Steve had always proven himself to be an excellent judge of character. If he trusted the Chameleon, because that was definitely who that had been, then there was a reason for it.

 

It killed him a little, seeing history repeat itself like this, though. Steve and Peter, both scrawny kids orphaned at a young age, both fighting to save people in their teens, both facing tragic loss after tragic loss and amassing experience well beyond their age.

 

Bucky remembered trying to talk Steve out of stupid shit, and it never came to much except for pushing his friend into further action. He wasn’t going to repeat that mistake with Peter.

 

It was still so weird to think of him as Peter. 

 

“Barnes, this is important,” Romanoff’s voice cut through the silence, sharp and slashing. “I think he’s in over his head.”

 

“What’s going on?” Bucky begrudgingly asked, eyes narrowing as he prepared himself for manipulation of some kind. He knew her tactics. He knew her ways. And she knew that he did. That didn’t mean that she wouldn’t try to use them anyway.

 

Romanoff leaned forward. “I think that someone’s using him. I think that someone is controlling him.”

 

“Controlling him?” Bucky’s frown deepened. “Mind control?”

 

“No— through influence.”

 

“Cut the crap,” Bucky insisted. “Just tell me what you’re talking about.”

 

“The night Spidey and Peter came to the tower,” Natasha was staring him down. “Too many things were strange. I don’t think everything’s as they said it was. I heard Spidey’s voice, later and played it against Peter’s. It’s nearly identical. JARVIS said that it’s a ninety-nine percent probability that they’re the same person, and if they aren’t, they’re related. Parker doesn’t have any kind of relatives his age, at least none that are recorded.”

 

“So what are you saying?”

 

“I think that Peter Parker is Spider-Man,” Romanoff concluded firmly. “And the Peter Parker we saw that night was the Chameleon.”

 

He really ought to give her more credit. She was the Black Widow, after all. She hadn’t needed his input after all.

 

“Okay,” Bucky drawled. “So saying that you’re right. What’s your point?”

 

“What’s my point?” Romanoff repeated incredulously. “My point is that if that was the Chameleon, he prevented Spidey from telling us who he was. I think that he might be manipulating Spider-Man, although to what ends, I’m not sure, yet. I don’t trust it, though.”

 

“Hold on,” Bucky’s eyes rolled. “Don’t you think you’re jumping to conclusions, here?”

 

“No,” Romanoff hissed. “He’s like us, Barnes. He travels the same circles we did. You know the kind of people take up our line of work. He’s not to be trusted.”

 

“Can we trust  _ you _ ?” Bucky leaned forward, too, challenging. “Can we trust  _ me _ ? If we can change, Romanoff, maybe he did, too. Maybe Spidey was just the first one to notice it.”

 

“He poisoned Spider-Man.”

 

“And I killed the Starks,” Bucky answered flatly, arms crossing over his chest. The connection point between his metal arm and his flesh ached. “If Spidey trusts him, then I think that we should let it play out a little. See what happens.”

 

“Bullshit,” Natasha bristled. “If Spidey is really Peter Parker, then he’s a sixteen-year-old kid. Fifteen, when all this started. He’s not old enough to know what he’s dealing with. He doesn’t have the life experiences that we do. We need to be looking out for him.”

 

“We are looking out for him,” Bucky scoffed. “But looking out for him isn’t the same as being a damn helicopter parent. We need to let him run his life, still. He’s not your kid, Romanoff, and he’s not my kid, and he doesn’t belong to any of us, no matter how much some of the people in this tower might want that if they knew what was really going on. He’s his own person, and he deserves some credit for getting this far on his own. He’s pulling it off. So let him handle this.”

 

Bucky stood, arms braced against the table. “Let it go, Romanoff,” He instructed her, eyes boring into hers.

 

Romanoff leaned back, expression cool and at ease, despite the tension he glimpsed in her posture before she smoothed it away. “The teacher voice,” She commented dryly. “Nice try, Barnes. But I’m not a student anymore.” She tilted her head at him in the way she had all those years ago. It didn’t tug his heartstrings anymore, but it was nostalgic all the same. “The Red Room is behind us, and so is your command.”

 

“If you go after Spidey about this,” Bucky warned, straightening up. “He’ll run. He doesn’t trust us not to turn him in. If he did, he would have told us himself, by now.”

 

Romanoff glowered at him, clearly not appreciating his input, but hell, she’d been the one to ask for it in the first place. If she didn’t like it, well, that was her problem.


	3. At First Sight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A scene from September from a different POV pls enjoy

**September**

 

Noah Montford was promising. So much more promising than the last power hungry moron Dmitri Smerdyakov had latched onto.

 

He was ambitious, he was rich, and he had a mutant ability that, while not terribly impressive in its own right, was utilized well. The man was far from perfect: somewhat too overt for Dmitri’s tastes, but there was one thing about him that made it more than worthwhile to sink his efforts into the man.

 

He was _stupid._

 

Not that he didn’t know how to run his business, or manage his affairs, or handle his life. But he was so stupid, so easy. It took so little for Dmitri to get the man under his thumb.

 

After all, a man like that wanted nothing more than to be _feared._ To be _appreciated._ To be _respected._ And it was very, very simple for Dmitri to show him the respect he desired. To give him the attention he craved.

 

“You’re brilliant,” Dmitri had whispered into his ear. He had used the voice of his father, who had never approved of what he’d done with himself. “You deserve more. You can do whatever you like, and there’s nothing anyone can do to stop you. No one _deserves_ to stop you.”

 

And that was really all it had taken.

 

Montford had hired him on the spot, paying his bills and allowing him access into his inner circle at once. Dmitri slotted in easily; he was a master, after all, and Noah never noticed the way Dmitri began to steer his operations.

 

“I know a man who can smuggle anything you’d like into the country,” He had suggested, very early.

 

“I think that we’d be better served with larger weapons than _this_ ,” he remarked later, just shy of disdainfully, as he surveyed the crates in one of Montford’s warehouses.

 

“I’d like you to meet Dr. Octavius and Dr. Warren,” He’d murmured, a sly smile on his face. “I think that they can give you exactly what you need.”

 

That meeting had gone particularly well, Dmitri thought with a hum, leaning against the railing of the outdoor cafe he was currently set up in. He had been pleased to find such a pleasant vantage point along the route of his delivery drivers. There was someone on the way currently, Dmitri had been assured, with the samples they would need to create the clones.

 

But they’d hit a snag.

 

Well, that was alright, Dmitri thought, thumb gingerly circling the button on the remote in his hand. Police were an inconvenience, to be sure, but they were nothing that Dmitri couldn’t handle. And maybe Mr. Montford ha been right just this one time: sometimes being loud was better.

 

The charges laid discreetly in the street a few blocks up would prove that. As son has his own drivers passed, all Dmitri would have to do…

 

His thumb stilled against the button. He could hear sirens, now. They were approaching.

 

Dmitri, wearing the face of a young woman with a stroller nearby, watched as first one car, then several others, whipped around the corner in the distance. Perfect: they were hanging back. Afraid to cause an accident, he supposed, watching the lights flash as they approached. It would be easy to use the first layer of police cars as a barricade against the others.

 

Dmitri watched them approach, readying himself to set off the explosion as soon as his drivers passed his trap. But then it happened. It happened right there in front of him, in the middle of broad daylight, with red and blue lights casting against the cars and the storefronts and the windows.

 

It happened and Dmitri Smerdyakov caught sight of a god.

 

He hadn’t registered the spandex suited hero, pressed flat on his back, until he’d seen those famous webs of his leap up into the sky, attaching to the buildings lining the street. And then, with a cry of exertion, the famed Spider-Man lifted the car entirely from the street, stalling his men and ruining his operation.

 

Dmitri could feel the stars in his eyes as he stared, gaping, up to the suspended vehicle. Spider-Man stood, and for a moment seemed to be backlit, glowing, from the sky above him. Dmitri couldn’t see his face, couldn’t hear his words as he spoke to the men in the car, couldn’t even tell how tall he was, from this vantage point.

 

But without even thinking about it, he immediately cast Montford aside in favor of this new mutant.

 

Spider-Man, he thought, watching as the hero abruptly leapt off the car and began to swing away. _Spider-Man._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There will probably be more of these scenes from Dmitri's pov haha


	4. A Heavy Rain

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Idk if this one is that interesting haha it's just a lil somethin but yeah,, this was what was happening right after Dmitri infiltrated the Tower disguised as Spider-Man

**November**

 

Dmitri Smerdyakov ran his hands down the already crisp fabric of his suit, giving his hands something to do as he strode purposefully through the crowds of SHIELD agents in the facility. They’d known what he could do, obviously, at least a vague idea, but that didn’t mean that they’d been prepared to deal with it. It was almost too easy to slip away the moment his escort took their eyes off him, hopping through several appearances rapidly in order to avoid getting caught.

 

He could hear cries of alarm from behind as his captors realized what had happened, but he didn’t flinch. A SHIELD agent was used to shouts in their facility, he decided, gauging the responses of the passers-by flowing around him. There was no cause for alarm, as far as most of them were concerned. Whatever was happening was someone  _ else’s _ problem.

 

This little detour into SHIELD had been very simple to orchestrate, he thought with a smile, and it had allowed him to lay hands on DNA of several more Avengers. Perhaps the first shipment, containing the hairs of most of the stronger Avengers was now being put to better use, but Montford was becoming dissatisfied, so this was for the best. The machine would be ready, soon, and it was best to have the DNA already on hand, he supposed.

 

It certainly didn’t hurt that he’d captured several more identities on his belt. It was always nice to have a few SHIELD faces at his disposal.

 

Dmitri hummed with satisfaction as he strolled casually out the front doors. They would lock down in a few moments, he was sure, so he wasted no time in distancing himself from the compound.

 

He reflected on his short time in the Avengers Tower. Maybe twenty minutes, but he’d found it terribly enlightening.

 

Spider-Man’s behavior had been easy to pin down from the many videos posted of him online. Confident, friendly, cocky and frequently sassy but still managing a genuine earnestness in the face of kindness. He thought that he’d understood Spider-Man’s personality well enough to imitate him. And perhaps he would have been right, had he stayed on the streets. He’d underestimated the depth of the relationship between Spider-Man and the Avengers, though. He had counted on Spider-Man’s secretive nature to keep him distant from the heroes. 

 

Disappointing, he admitted, but not insurmountable. Spider-Man was worth the work he would take. Besides, he was already so protective of his secrets, even if he did allow another personality to appear in private, that there would be little tweaking needed, he was sure. Just a few nudges, a few rejections, a few betrayals, and Spider-Man would be unwilling to share his secrets.

 

At least, unwilling to share them with anyone but Dmitri. He would make sure of that.

 

He’d learned a little about Spider-Man, he thought wistfully, thanks to his mistakes, so he couldn’t even be resentful about it. The distant, mysterious figure was growing more detailed in his mind, and he ached to meet him face to face. He longed for the opportunity to stare at that mask, wonder what was behind it. Even more, he wanted to see the eyes that it hid. He wanted Spider-Man to look back at him.

 

He wondered how how his eyes crinkled when he smiled.

 

He’d seen the videos. He knew the freckles on Spider-Man’s jaw. He’d seen a wide grin as he bantered with the people of New York. He’d seen the dimple in one of his cheeks as he laughed.

 

Dmitri wanted to see his eyes.

 

He thought of the trap he’d laid to find Spider-Man, hoping that the vigilante would step into it sooner, rather than later. He wanted to learn more about him. He was so grateful for each scrap of knowledge, each drop of personality that reached Dmitri’s grasp. He wanted to know more. He wanted to know  _ everything _ .

 

He had work to do, for now, though, he thought ruefully. Montford demanded satisfaction, and as much as Dmitri longed to leave him behind entirely, for the moment his resources were useful. For now, Dmitri needed him. 

 

But not forever, he told himself, feeling the venom in his veins as he thought of the stupidity of his current employer. No, not forever.

 

Patience, he thought with relish.  _ Soon _ .


	5. Reunion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If any of you were wondering...

Peter sat down at the interrogation table across from Gwen Stacy. He swallowed around his grief as he stared down at the metal surface, jaw clenching.

 

“Stop that,” He said firmly, trying not to feel those blue eyes on him. He’d forgotten that they were that color.

 

“Peter,” Gwen’s voice came from across the table, amused and cajoling. “Look at me, please.”

 

Peter shook his head once, quick. “Not until you take off her face.” There was a moment of silence, then a sigh, deeper.

 

“Alright, Peter,” Agreed a man’s voice, and Peter looked up. The eyes he saw were still blue, but they were pale, now, washed of color but crinkled with warmth. Peter’s stomach twisted. “I’m sorry. I suppose I wasn’t thinking. I didn’t want to upset you.”

 

“You weren’t thinking,” Peter repeated disbelievingly. “Yeah, right. You knew exactly how I’d react. Just because I don’t know _why_ you do something doesn’t mean that I don’t know you’re doing it.”

 

“Yes,” The Chameleon agreed almost apologetically. “At least I taught you that much.”

 

“You didn’t teach me anything,” Peter argued, fingers curling into fists where they sat on top of the cold gray table.

 

“I don’t think that’s true.” The Chameleon straightened the lapel of his suit jacket with one handcuffed hand as Peter grimaced. “But is that what you want to spend our short time together talking about?”

 

“No,” Peter relented, frown deepening. “SHIELD says you won’t talk. Not to anyone but…”

 

“Not to anyone but you,” Dmitri agreed softly, his expression tender. Peter forced himself not to look away.

 

“Why? Why only talk to me?” Peter demanded, arms crossing tightly over his chest.

 

“I just wanted to see your face again,” Dmitri sighed, and Peter felt the revulsion crawling through his body like ants under his skin. “I missed you, Peter.”

 

“I didn’t miss you,” Peter’s voice was sharp, and then he heard a murmur in his ear from the comm he wore.

 

“You don’t have to go through with this, Peter,” Steve was saying as Dmitri smiled indulgently at him. Peter set his jaw, shooting a look towards the black panel of glass against one wall. He _did_ have to. They needed this information.

 

“Maybe you don’t miss me,” Dmitri relented, looking a little sad about that fact. “But that’s only because you don’t know what you missed out on. You don’t understand what it is that you passed up the opportunity to have.”

 

Suddenly Peter was looking at Aunt May and his breath caught in his throat. It was too fast for him to control his facial expression, and the agony must have showed because sorrow flashed over her— _his_ face, too.

 

Then Dmitri was back. “I could have given them back to you, Peter,” he murmured gently, fingers tracing over the flannel shirt sleeve that appeared as a ripple of Uncle Ben moved across his features.

 

“I don’t want you to pretend to be my dead loved ones,” Peter’s voice was rising, and the Chameleon smiled at him again.

 

“I know that,” he agreed. “But Peter, Dr. Warren was so close to creating perfect clones. He was so close. It would have only taken a few more months before you could have had them back.”

 

Peter’s fist slammed down on the table and the resulting crunching metal sound was loud enough to break the composure of the Chameleon as he jumped.

 

“Peter,” Natasha’s voice was firm. “Stay calm.”

 

“Where is Dr. Warren?” Peter demanded, pulling his fist free of the dent in the table. The Chameleon managed to smooth the shaken expression off his face, but Peter’s stony determination didn’t fade. “You know where he is. So tell us.”

 

“Peter,” Dmitri was smiling, but there was a slight strain to his voice. “If I tell you where he is, would you visit again?”

 

“No,” Peter spat back without hesitation. “Not a chance.” The Chameleon’s mouth twisted with regret.

 

“I was afraid of that,” He sighed, leaning back in his chair and spreading his hands apart as far as they could go, handcuffs holding them as they were. “Then I’m afraid my hands are tied, Peter. I can’t tell you anything.”

 

Peter lurched to his feet, leaning over the table, and he heard metal creaking again. “You can and you will!”

 

The door opened, catching Peter’s attention, and he found Bucky standing there. “Take a break, kid,” He jerked his chin, indicating for Peter to join them outside. “We’ll try again later.”

 

Peter looked back at Dmitri, rage simmering in the pit of his stomach, then straightened stiffly, turning and heading for the door, pace brisk.

 

As it swung shut, he almost missed the softly spoken “See you soon, Peter.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dr. Warren hasn't been caught yet.
> 
> Big big big thanks to my new beta, spiccceeyyy!


	6. A Beast with Sharp Claws

**February**

Dmitri Smerdyakov walked down the street wearing a nondescript face. No one looked at him, no one addressed him, he doubted that anyone even really noticed him. He was nonthreatening, unobtrusive, and practically invisible.

The hard soled business shoes he was wearing tapped against the concrete, but it was difficult to hear over the shouting and honking that came with the current power outage. The chaos only served as further cover, but he didn’t much care. There was no one looking for him. Even if they were, they’d  _ never _ find him.

He glanced up at the high rise as he approached, but the roof was far too far away to actually see.

Nerves were curling in his stomach, but his hands were shaking with excitement. He’d seen Spider-Man, before, spoken to him, even, but this would be something new. This would be the first time he would catch a glimpse of the Spider-Man the man’s friends got to see. The first time he would peel back the layer of his public personality to see what lie underneath.

Dmitri swallowed and strode through the building, his belt shimmering him into near invisibility as he projected the room around him over his skin. The few people lingering in the lobby were too busy discussing the power outage to notice him as he passed through the open space and slid into the stairwell.

It was a long way up, but it was worth it. It would have taken far more stairs than this to discourage the Chameleon from his target. It felt like he spent a million years, climbing those stairs, and he was afraid that Spider-Man would be gone by the time he got there, but luck was on his side.

As he exited the stairwell onto the roof, he saw Spider-Man perched on the ledge at the end of the building. Dmitri’s heart was racing and he let his face shift into that of Natasha Romanoff: a face that would certainly get him close enough to Spider-Man to accomplish his mission. His finger twitched against the spiked ring on his finger as he crossed the roof towards the figure at the other end.

“Spider-Man,” he spoke up, Natasha’s smooth, casual tone coming to his lips so naturally it was like breathing. Spider-Man lurched, apparently having been taken by surprise. He jumped to his feet and spun on his heels, there on the edge of the roof, and Dmitri caught a gasp in his chest before it managed to work its way up to his lips. Thank god, he thought feverishly as Spider-Man caught his balance again. Thank god. 

“Oh my god,” Spider-Man said, running a hand over the top of his head in a way that made Dmitri’s heart jump. He couldn’t take his eyes off of the young man, now, as his shoulders drooped and the tension went out of him. “Nat, you scared the crap out of me.” Nat, Dmitri thought fondly. A nickname. Not the correct one, of course, but Spider-Man and Romanoff were clearly friends. Dmitri was, for the moment, Spider-Man’s  _ friend _ . 

“Nice to know that I can at least sneak up on you sometimes ,” Dmitri answered, closing the distance between them. He watched as Spider-Man touched his mask and for a moment he nearly froze: was he going to take it off? But then his hand fell away again and Dmitri’s stomach curled with disappointment. It had been so close. 

“Yeah, I guess I was caught up thinking about something else,” Spider-Man answered with a sheepish shrug as he looked back over the city.  

“What’s on your mind, Spider-Man?” Dmitri asked, wondering what was going through that head of his. Spider-Man crouched down next to him as Dmitri leaned against the wall, bringing them so close together that Dmitri could practically feel the heat coming off him there in the cold air. 

“I don’t know,” He shrugged. “Wondering about the power outages, I guess. It wasn’t out for this long, last time.” 

“I’m sure it’s under control,” Dmitri murmured, shooting him a glance. “Although it is pretty concerning that it’s happened twice in as many months.” How much had Spider-Man figured out? Not much, it seemed. He thought of Dr. Warren, below the city, creating his clones. They were far from perfect recreations, but they were certainly a miracle of science.

“I was thinking the same thing. It’s making me pretty nervous.” Spider-Man rubbed at his neck, and Dmitri’s eyes followed the motion, remembering his mission. He stroked at the syringe ring with his thumb. “I don’t know what it is, but I just feel like something’s wrong with this whole situation.” 

“I think I might be able to help you out, if you want,” Dmitri offered, and Spider-Man turned to look at him. He was starting to tense up again, Dmitri noticed, getting ready to move if Spider-Man tried something. 

“Um… what do you mean?” Dmitri looked away as Spider-Man stared, trying to seem more casual. Eye contact would only be threatening to the young hero, at this point. “Why did you come find me, today, instead of calling me to the tower? Surely you guys have got generators over there to keep everything online.”

“There’s someone who wants to meet you,” Dmitri admitted. “I believe you’ve technically met once, already, but he’d like to make a more formal introduction.” Montford was insistent that he bring Spider-Man in, and Dmitri was more than happy to oblige. He longed for more opportunity to be near him. 

“Who are you talking about?” Spider-Man demanded, and Dmitri smiled gently at him, fingers twitching as Spider-Man moved to stand. “Nat, where’s your comm?”

Dmitri grabbed Spider-Man by the arm, letting the needle, laced with a tranquilizer, sink into his arm. 

“Crap!” Spider-Man staggered away and shot a strand of web towards Dmitri, but he was ready. He slipped out of the way, then turned to follow Spider-Man as he jumped. The move was awkward, already uneven as the drugs made their way into his system, but Dmitri felt a swell of awe despite that. Spider-Man was incredible, he thought eagerly, excited to get his hands on the hero. He felt bad about having to drug him, but there wasn’t another way. There was no chance that Spider-Man would have agreed to go along with him, and asking would only have put his mission in further jeopardy. It was hard enough to get close, as it was.

“Calm down, Spider-Man,” Dmitri coaxed him. “It’s just a precaution. I trust you, of course, but the boss isn’t quite so sure that you don’t want to bring his operation to a close, yet.” I trust you, Dmitri thought silently, so trust me.  _ Trust me. _

“Chameleon,” Spider-Man said, and Dmitri’s heart leapt. He was shooting off webs, but Dmitri could see him wobbling even where he stood. He would be unconscious, soon, and Dmitri would take him. When he woke up, Dmitri would be there. He would be there to comfort him, he thought with growing exaltation. He would be there to guide him. He would be there to teach him and befriend him and, eventually, turn him. “I’m not going anywhere with you.”

“Be sensible,” He opened his hands, looking as nonthreatening as he could manage. “I don’t intend to hurt you.” 

“You already have!” Spider-Man snapped at him, and the pity strengthened as the man backed against the wall like a cornered animal. He looked so weak and tired, the Chameleon thought, and the first tendrils of love curled around his heart. Spider-Man was trying so hard to stay conscious, but he was fading fast. The Chameleon moved towards him, closing in on him, but before he could get close Spider-Man turned and threw himself off the roof.

“No!” Dmitri cried, sprinting forward in time to see Spider-Man swinging away, movements loose and barely keeping him from falling to his death. Dmitri’s fingers gripped tight to the roof’s edge as he watched in helpless horror as Spider-Man faded into the distance, and before he knew it the man was gone.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Deep sigh  
> I wrote about seven thousand words today  
> Three different chapters: first one for Asprin, which is already posted, then this one, then ANOTHER asprin chapter all got finished today.  
> My beta is a real trooper, I'll tell you what. They beta'd both chapters that got posted today and they're doing the next one tomorrow. Wow. What a cool kid.
> 
> Anyways. Ttyt


	7. A Million Eyes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As requested by i_live_for_death!
> 
> Lemme tell you, babe, I had the hardest time finding your comment to get your username. I'm sorry it took me so long to get to this! But at last, at long last, your request has been honored!

**April**

Clint rocked on his heels, waiting across the street from the southern cemetery entrance. He hadn’t seen any sign of Parker, yet, but that didn’t really mean anything. That kid was crazy good at sneaking around unnoticed, for a civilian.

“Any sign?” That was Natasha, checking in for what felt like the millionth time since they’d posted themselves around the grounds. She was stressing out over this, it was clear. Clint wished Steve had never set her on this bone: she was relentless. She’d never let it go, now, not until she laid hands on the Parker kid.

“Not yet,” Clint told her again.

“Nothing here, either,” Steve chimed in from where he was standing guard on the north end of the graveyard. Natasha’s aggravated huff was audible over the comms, and he was sure that her job guarding the mourning party wasn’t exactly putting her in a great mood.

No sympathy, Clint decided, since she’d been the one handing out assignments.

He sunk back down into his thoughts, letting them wander. It was easy, after years of practice, to multitask this way: his mind could drift as far as it liked, but his eyes would continue to rove, looking for Peter Parker.

Spider-Man hadn’t stopped his strange behavior, instead sinking even further towards what must be outright insanity since Gwen Stacy had died. The guilt must be eating him alive, Clint thought sympathetically. That kid was so soft-hearted that there was no way this death, presumably because of his admittedly flimsy connection with her, wasn’t tearing him apart.

It made Clint cringe to think how Spidey was there when it happened. He’d probably tried to save her. That failure was rough, he knew from experience. He hoped the kid was doing okay. He was probably even more worried about Peter, now.

His eyes skimmed the street again, but there was no sign of the teenager. He let out a long, slow breath, wondering where Spidey was, now. He’d stopped responding to their pages, but his tracker had been moving when Tony had checked it, and there hadn’t been any kind of report of a villain dragging Spider-Man’s dead body around the city, so he was probably still alive. He was just… busy.

Clint ruffled at his hair, heart clenching with a muted grief as he thought about what the kid was going through right now. By all accounts, he was tearing aimlessly through the city, occasionally startling citizens by bursting out of a subway tunnel or a manhole like he’d been running around underground.

God, what was going through that kid’s head? It was impossible to guess.

No, Clint corrected himself. It was actually really easy to guess. He was after Octavius, Clint was sure. He was after revenge. Clint grimaced at the thought: the kid was so sweet it made his teeth ache, sometimes, and it worried him that he’d taken this sudden turn into darker and more serious territory. Steve would be devastated: he thought of Spidey as some kind of mini-me. He liked to comment on how well their morals lined up, and how Spidey was the next generation carrying on the legacy left by the older heroes, and how the guy was going to be the best of all of them— it would kill him if Spidey had been changed, by this.

If Spidey killed Doc Ock, Clint wouldn’t shed any tears.

He leaned his head back against the wall, eyes lighting momentarily on a pedestrian he thought might be Peter, but the teenager didn’t match the profile, so he let himself drift off again. The teen did, however, make a right turn onto the funeral grounds, and that brought Clint’s musings back to Gwen Stacy.

She and Spider-Man had met twice, Nat had told them during briefing, or at least that’s what Spidey claimed. It was totally possible that they’d encountered each other more than that but the kid was downplaying the relationship in order to diminish the likelihood that someone would connect them more seriously than that.

If that was the case, Clint thought with a grimace, it hadn’t worked out well for either of them.

Spidey and Peter Parker certainly had some kind of bond, though, so it wouldn’t be too far of a stretch to say that Gwen was closer to Spider-Man than any of them would like to claim. It was easy to think of the three of them as some kind of trio, close and private and absorbed in the group, but as the growing crowd inside the grounds assured Clint, there were a lot of people who cared about this girl.

Family and friends, fellow students and teachers, coworkers and supervisors. The girl had been popular, Natasha had reported, liked by most of the people she came into contact with. It was hard to see someone like that pass in such a traumatic way, Clint thought with a grimace, especially considering she was so young—

A teenager was slumping down the sidewalk, eyes on the ground, hands shoved in his pockets. 

“He’s here,” Clint announced quietly, straightening up.

“Good,” Natasha didn’t sound relieved, but Clint knew that she was. “Move in, Clint. Steve, you come closer, too. This is officially a bodyguard mission. Keep an eye out for anyone acting suspiciously.”

“Copy,” Steve agreed, but Clint didn’t bother responding as he jogged across the street during a gap in the traffic, landing on the sidewalk behind Peter, giving him time to gather himself before the teen laid eyes on him.

Shit, Clint’s teeth gritted as he saw the way Peter was hesitating at the gate. Shit. This kid was mourning, too, he realized. Gwen was his girlfriend. The kid whose mom and dad had died, whose uncle had died, whose aunt had passed only a few months ago. Now he was at the funeral of his girlfriend, who had died, as the newspaper claimed, at the hands of Spider-Man. At the hands of someone he might have counted as a friend. 

_ Shit _ .

Clint swallowed down his nerves and strode forward, coming up next to Parker. “Peter?” He prompted gently, looking down at him. The scrawny teen didn’t look too hot, Clint had to admit, checking the heavy, dark bags under his red-rimmed eyes and the way his face hung slack under the mop of ill-groomed hair.

Peter didn’t say anything, instead staring blankly at him. It didn’t seem like he recognized him, and Clint had to wonder if it was because of Clint’s relative obscurity or if Peter just wasn’t registering his face. Poor fucking kid, Clint thought fervently, thinking of his own kids, across the country. He hoped they never had to go through half of what this kid had.

“My name’s Clint Barton,” Clint offered eventually, attempting to end the awkward pause. He was sure that Steve and Tasha were listening in, and he wondered if Peter’s silence was as ominous to them as it was to him. “There are a lot of people worried about you, kid.”

The silence continued and Clint was really getting worried, now. This kid had it bad, he thought, feeling the stress bunching in the top of his back. He  _ wasn’t okay. _

“It’s okay,” Clint spoke quietly, almost feeling like speaking too loudly might spook Peter into running. “You’re here for the funeral, right? Let’s go in.” He let his hand slide down between Peter’s shoulders and gave him a gentle push, guiding him onto the path inside the gates.

Peter was staring at the ground again, and that heavy, defeated posture was just as painful to witness as his morose silence had been. At last, he spoke. “What are you doing here?” His voice cracked, like he hadn’t spoken in a long time, like he was holding a lot of pain, there in his chest, like he’d been crying for days. “You didn’t know Gwen, did you?”

“No,” Clint admitted, eyes scanning the area around them. He didn’t allow his hand to leave Peter’s back. The best way to avoid the Chameleon slipping in when he wasn’t looking, Tash had coached him. Direct contact. “But we knew you’d be here.”

“You’ve been looking for me,” Peter said, his voice still flat and dead, and Clint nodded. 

“We can talk about that, later,” Clint assured him, and Peter looked at him again. “I’m sorry for your loss.”

There was another long pause, then a quiet “Thanks.”

Peter was still looking down, but Clint could see people beginning to notice them, over at the burial site. There were stares, whispers, a few shocked exclamations. Right, Clint realized. These people would know Gwen’s boyfriend. They would know that he’d been missing. They wouldn’t have known he would be here. They wouldn’t have even known he was alive.

A woman broke away from the crowd and started towards them. Clint stiffened but there, in the distance, Natasha: she gave him a nod. Alright. If Natasha was confident that this wasn’t the Chameleon, Clint would follow her lead. She knew a lot more about the situation than he did, after all.

The woman pulled Peter into a tight hug, out of Clint’s grasp. He grimaced, refusing to take his eyes off Peter even for a moment as long as he didn’t have a hold of him.

He could hear the two of them muttering condolences to each other, but even with the aids, his hearing wasn’t fantastic, so he missed what exactly was said.

“Come stand with us, Peter,” the woman was saying, and he realized that she must be someone in Gwen’s family. The mother, probably. Shit, it sucked, seeing her trying to smile and be polite when she’d just lost her  _ kid _ . “And…?” Oh, she was looking at him, now.

“Clint Barton,” He shook her hand. It was cold. “I’m so sorry for your loss.” It felt inadequate, but he didn’t know what else to say. 

“Thank you. How did you know Gwen?” She was puzzled by him, trying to place him, probably wondering if he was a teacher or maybe someone from Gwen’s internship. Clint didn’t really feel like it was appropriate to explain why he was actually here.

“I’m afraid I didn’t have the pleasure,” He admitted. “I’m here with Peter.”

“I’m glad to hear that,” Mrs. Stacy answered quietly, apparently soothed by the information. She must have been worried sick about Peter Parker, he thought with a touch of tenderness. It was good that the kid had people who had been worried about him. Clint just wasn’t sure why he hadn’t  _ gone _ to any of them for help. “Please, you’re welcome to join us.”

“Thank you.” Mrs. Stacy turned to lead the way up the rows of the assembled crowd. They were in front, with the rest of Gwen’s family— several other children, Clint noted, heart twisting with sympathy. Mr. Stacy gave Peter another hug, and Clint was annoyed with himself for resenting it. But how could he deny them? How could he deny these grieving people the small comfort that they could provide to each other? He just wished it didn’t contrast so sharply with his mission. But no one was acting strangely, no one was making any suspicious moves. Maybe no one that was after him knew he was here.

That was stupid to think. Obviously they would guess Gwen Stacy’s death would lure him out. Clint needed to stay vigilant. He kept his hand on Peter’s shoulder, eyes going once more to scanning the area. There were occasional mutters in his ear from Natasha and Steve, but other than that, they were all quietly content to let Peter mourn his girlfriend at her funeral.

Maybe content wasn’t the right word: Clint was itching with nerves. He didn’t trust that there wasn’t someone nearby, watching them. He could feel eyes on the back of his neck but he refused to look. It was just the people behind him at the service, he told himself. And even if it wasn’t, Natasha and Steve were just out of sight, guarding the funeral party. No one would get in here. Nothing would happen to Peter or Gwen’s family.

It reminded him strongly of his circus days, he thought with a grimace, listening only vaguely to the man delivering the eulogy. He felt like he was being watched, but he wasn’t allowed to react to the crowd. Clint just had to keep performing. He had to be the grieving mourner who was here with Peter Parker. Everyone here probably assumed that they were related. Or maybe they thought that he was someone close to Gwen. 

Maybe if someone was watching, if the Chameleon was here, if Doc Ock was lurking nearby, they wouldn’t notice him. Maybe they would assume he really was just one of the mourners. He did have that whole lack of notoriety going for him, still, at least, for the most part. Sure, some people were sure to recognize him, given time, but he was far from the most famous Avenger.

So, yeah, okay. He was a mourner. That’s all he would be, for now, and he would just have to trust Steve and Natasha to watch his back in the meantime.

Peter was crying, he realized. God, Peter was crying. That poor fucking kid. Clint wrapped his arm tightly around Peter’s shoulder, giving him the only comfort he could offer. Peter didn’t lean into him, but neither did he shy away, so Clint resolved to stay that way until the service ended or Peter expressed his discomfort, whichever came first. It was the least he could do.

He wished that he could have done something to help Gwen Stacy. He wished that he could have prevented this, somehow. That was the worst thing about being an Avenger, he thought bitterly. Eventually he just kind of started assigning himself more and more responsibility for the people around him. Anything bad that happened felt like something he could have prevented. Anything, not just in New York, but out in the world. Shouldn’t he have done something about this? Shouldn’t he have saved them? Shouldn’t he have at least tried? What had he been doing the night Gwen Stacy died? Watching a movie? Playing video games? He would never watch a movie again if it meant that he could go back in time and save Gwen. He would give up video games forever if he could save everyone who died when he could save them.

He stood there for what felt like a million years, the back of his neck prickling uncomfortably, bitterly contemplating all the things he couldn’t change no matter what he did.

The service ended.

Clint waited with Peter as people around them started to move, lowering his arm. It was time to go, he thought regretfully. Peter had had his chance to mourn Gwen, but now they had to get him to safety. Just as he opened his mouth to tell Peter that, someone else called his name.

“Peter!” Clint stepped back slightly to avoid getting bowled over by a redheaded teenage girl who threw herself into Peter’s arms. A classmate, he hoped. Not the Chameleon, he hoped harder, eyes trained on the two of them. “Oh, my god, you’re alive! Everyone thought you were dead!” He didn’t look away from them, but in his periphery he could see a larger figure approaching.

“Tash?” He muttered, letting his comm carry the word away.

“Flash Thompson,” She answered. “Keep your comm open, but it should be fine, just don’t let him take Peter with him.”

“No duh,” Clint agreed, crossing his arms as he shot a glance towards Flash. He didn’t look so hot, either, he noticed. No duh, he repeated, annoyed with himself. This was a funeral, not a beauty pageant.

“Parker,” Flash greeted, and Peter and the girl disentangled themselves from each other in order to look at him. “What the hell were you thinking, disappearing on me like that, yesterday? Where have you been? How have you been?”

“I don’t know,” Peter answered in a mumble, looking uncomfortable. Clint wondered if it was his presence that kept Peter from talking openly with his friends. He felt a little bad about that, but Peter would have time to catch up with them properly once he was safe. 

“You don’t know?” Flash and the girl were both looking at Clint, now, and he did his best to keep his face neutral. Don’t act weird, he coached himself.

“Hawkeye?” The girl was blinking owlishly at him. “What are you doing here?”

“I thought I’d pay my respects,” Clint answered with a shrug, and realization passed over Flash’s face. He was Natasha’s informant, Clint remembered. He probably knew what was going on. “I’m really sorry to interrupt, but Peter and I need to get going.”

Peter shot him a look that took Clint aback. He looked suspicious as hell. What was that about?

“At least give me your phone number,” The girl was demanding, pulling Peter’s attention back to her, but Clint was still wondering what Peter was thinking. 

“I don’t actually… have a phone anymore. Sorry. Um… I’ll Skype you, sometime?”

The three teens stood looking at each other for a few moments longer, clearly wanting to say more, but they were at a loss. Clint didn’t envy their still-developing social skills, but he had to admit that if it were him, he probably wouldn’t be doing much better.

“I’ll… see you guys around, I guess,” Peter said eventually, and Flash nodded at him, arms crossing over his chest.

“Take care of yourself, Parker.”

“Come over and see me, soon,” The redhead insisted, but Peter had apparently checked out of the conversation and he was staring at Clint again, that suspicious look back on his face.

“Will you come with me?” Clint prompted him quietly, forcing himself to put his hands in his pockets instead of back on Peter’s shoulder.

“Where?” Peter asked him slowly, and Clint started to answer but then  _ damnit, _ there was another interruption.

“Peter,” It was Mr. Stacy. “I’m going to put in a call to the station and someone is going to come down and pick you up, alright? You shouldn’t be out on your own. You need to let someone help you.” Clint appreciated, again, that someone was worried about Peter, but this guy needed to  _ step off _ Clint’s mark. Uh— his… target? No. Shit. His, um. It didn’t matter. He needed to step off.

“Actually,” Clint spoke up, fishing his wallet out of his pocket. He flashed his SHIELD badge at the man before stuffing it back in his pocket, not especially eager to leave that kind of information out in the open for too long. “I’m here to pick up Peter. I’m taking him into SHIELD custody.”

“SHIELD?” Stacy demanded, raising Clint’s hackles.

“SHIELD?” Peter repeated a moment later, voice small, and he decided that talking to Peter was more important than this self important jackass.

“You’re not in trouble,” He assured the kid, hoping he hadn’t freaked him out too bad, just now. “We just want to make sure that you’re safe.” He reached out to take hold of Peter’s shoulder again, well aware of his talent in disappearing. Even without the Chameleon’s interference, he didn’t want Peter to bolt.

“From what?” Peter’s voice was sharpening, and Clint was getting pretty worried, now, that he might try to run. Peter was glaring daggers at Clint, so he stepped closer and wrapped his arm back around Peter’s shoulders for extra security.

“It’s okay, Peter. We’ll talk about it in the car, okay?”

“I’ll have to report that you have him,” Stacy challenged him, and Clint turned a steely gaze towards the man. Why the hell was this bastard not getting the hint? Peter’s location needed to be kept  _ quiet _ . Didn’t he understand how precarious this situation was?

Probably not. It was a pretty quiet operation, after all, and it hadn’t been going on for long.

“Sure,” Clint agreed slowly. “But go straight to the chief of police. It’s  _ very important _ that Peter’s location not get around to too many people.” Clint locked eyes with the man, staring him down until he finally nodded reluctantly, turning his attention back to Peter.

“I hope to see you again, Peter,” He said, extending his hand, and Clint was so tense by now that he very nearly threw a punch right then, but he managed to keep himself together as Peter and Stacy shook hands. “Take care of yourself.”

“You, too, sir,” Peter said, but Clint didn’t allow any more time for conversation. It was time to  _ go _ . He pulled Peter back the way they had come, heading for the southern gate.

“How are you feeling, kid?” Clint prompted, but he was going back into a sniper headspace, scanning the area around them.

“We’ll have a car around the corner,” Natasha was telling him. “Just a couple blocks. Head west. We’ll be right behind you.”

“Not great,” Peter answered quietly, and Clint grimaced.

“I know,” He agreed. No point in sugarcoating it: the kid was miserable, and he probably would be for a while. But maybe once he got somewhere safe, he would get to relax again. Then he would have a chance to mourn his losses properly and he could start to move on.

“So am I being arrested?” Peter asked, drawing Clint’s full attention in his surprise.

“No,” Clint started with a wry smile, and Peter interrupted him.

“So I’m free to go?”

“Sorry, kid,” Clint snorted, amused by the kid’s cheek even in the face of this tragedy. He could appreciate that. “You’re not being arrested, but consider yourself… detained.”

“You’re not even with the police,” Peter complained, and Clint shot him a glance, amused.

“No, but I  _ am _ with a government agency,” Clint countered. Maybe he ought to start explaining. Shit, how to put this? “But look, kid, really, you’re not in trouble. We’re just going to help you, okay? There are some... dangerous people out there that we think—”

“Shit!” There was a hissed curse from in front of them and Clint looked up just in time to narrowly dodge something flying by his face. A cell phone? He stared after it, baffled, and in the moment of confusion, Peter slipped out from under his arm. Shit!

Clint straightened quickly, spinning towards the teen, but he was gone. 

_ Shit! _

A large man in a hoodie had Peter over his shoulder and he was hauling ass back the way they’d come.

“Damnit! Someone snatched the kid!” Clint yelled, breaking into a run after the figure. “I need backup!”

“Hell!” Steve growled. “Where are they?” 

“Headed east,” Clint answered. “Male, wearing a dark hoodie. I didn’t see his face.”

“I see him!” Natasha called over the comms. “It’s Deadpool!”

“Fantastic!” Clint huffed, catching sight of Steve up ahead.

“He’s heading towards 69th Avenue,” Tasha barked,

“Hold it!” Cap called, clearly directing his voice to someone else, and there was the sound of a blaring horn in the background.

“What the hell is going on?” Clint demanded, weaving across the street. There was a flash of red hair as Tash dashed around a corner, and Clint hastened to follow.

“Lost visual!” Steve declared, sounding tense, but there was a sudden clamor of honking car horns that Clint could hear even without the comm. “North!” 

Clint hastened to follow the directions, sprinting through the crowds of pedestrians, desperately searching for any sign of Deadpool or Peter, but there was nothing.

“Any sign?” He called, and Natasha was the first to answer.

“I’ve got him! He’s heading back towards 69th!”

“Where the hell is he going?” Clint demanded, huffing, and then he saw Deadpool dash in front of him, flashing a peace sign before leaping into traffic. “I see him! He doesn’t have Peter!”

“Damnit!” Natasha shouted. “Steve, Clint! Find Peter! Search the area! I’ll take Deadpool!”

“On it,” Steve agreed, and Clint clenched his jaw, taking a hard right, turning down the alley Deadpool had just come out of.

God  _ damnit _ , why couldn’t anything be easy?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey babes! So! May I introduce you to... buh duh duh DUH, an update schedule!!
> 
> For now I'm just going with one update per week: on Saturdays! I'll try and rotate through the fics I currently have in the works, but at the moment there isn't any set schedule for what gets updated each week. If I start getting a hefty backlog of chapters I might up it to twice a week, but... we'll see what happens. It's a new system, so I hope you'll bear with me.


	8. A Labor of Love

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope yall like the Chameleon cause it's more of this guy  
> I LOVE writing this guy
> 
> Get ready for a long end note section cause I'm gonna talk about all the stuff I've got going on

**April**

 

Dmitri strode briskly down the street, trying to catch his breath even as he hastened towards Montford’s office. Although his little playacted fight with Octavius hadn’t been especially dangerous for him, it had still been physically strenuous, and now he was tired. It didn’t help, much, that Montford had called him in for an  _ urgent meeting, _ he thought, lip curling with disdain.

 

The doctor didn’t have to be  _ quite  _ so vicious in their mock fight, Dmitri thought resentfully. It was only meant to distract: to draw the Avenger’s attention away from Peter Parker as Deadpool scooped him out of their grasp. It was never meant to be quite the show that Octavius had apparently planned.

 

Dmitri’s phone rang and he huffed irritably, whipping the device from his pocket and checking the caller ID. Deadpool, he read scornfully. The last thing he wanted to do was deal with  _ that  _ buffoon right now, but he supposed he had better accept the call. If something had gone wrong, if the Avengers had gotten away with Peter, he needed to know  _ now _ .

 

“I told you not to call this number,” Dmitri said coldly as he pressed the phone to his ear, perfectly willing to clue Deadpool in on his displeasure immediately. He didn’t expect the silence from the other end, but it grated at his nerves as the seconds passed. “ _ Deadpool _ ,” He snapped, teeth gritting.

 

“No,” The caller replied, and Dmitri sucked in a sharp breath at the unexpected voice. That wasn’t Deadpool.

 

“Spider-Man,” Dmitri said, surprised, but he couldn’t resist. “ _ Peter.” _ He let his voice curl lovingly around his name. He let Peter hear his emotions as they swelled.

 

“Yes,” Peter answered, voice trembling. “And you’re Dmitri Smerdyakov.”

 

“Yes.” How much had Deadpool said to Peter? Dmitri scowled, already planning what he would say to the mercenary next time they spoke. The Merc with a Mouth indeed, he thought sourly. But Peter was calling him, he remembered, and that soothed his bad temper. Peter was talking to him on the phone. Peter was using his  _ name _ .

 

“The Chameleon,” Peter confirmed, and Dmitri smiled.

 

“Yes,” he repeated, waiting eagerly. What did Peter have to say to him? Was he angry? Was he pleased? Why was he calling Dmitri?

 

“You disguised yourself as me to throw the Avengers off the trail of my identity.” Dmitri nodded, despite the fact that Peter couldn’t see him. “Why?”

 

“You don’t want them to know who you are, right?” Dmitri prompted him, slowing. Let Montford be angry that he was late, he thought dismissively. He could wait.

 

“But why do you care?” Peter’s voice was harsh over the phone, but Dmitri didn’t mind. It made sense that he was suspicious. Dmitri decided to be honest with him. Maybe it would lay his mind at ease.

 

“I admire you, Peter. I admire your strength, and your intelligence, and your willingness to take matters into your own hands.” He closed his eyes, smiling, and tried to imagine Peter’s face right now.

 

“You attacked me.” His brow would be furrowed, Dmitri thought. That freckled jaw of his would be tight with his fear. Dmitri let out a sigh, his smile widening.

 

“Yes, I did,” He agreed, letting his voice sound contrite despite the pleasure glowing in his bones as he spoke with Peter. “Under the orders of… my employer.” He paused. “Can I tell you something, Peter?”

 

There was a long silence, but Dmitri didn’t interrupt. He was content to listening to Peter’s ragged breaths over the phone. He could listen to that sound for longer than he cared to admit. “Tell me,” Peter finally relented, and Dmitri opened his eyes.

 

“My employer wants to own you,” Dmitri whispered. “He wants to turn you away from your path to work for him. He wants to destroy, and he wants you to be a tool for him to do so.”

 

Peter was quiet again. Dmitri let Peter mull that over. The boy was so fresh-faced, stepping out into the world for the first time, that it had probably never occurred to him that someone might want to use him that way. That someone might try and take advantage of him.

 

Dmitri didn’t feel bad about not mentioning that he, also, wanted to take advantage of Peter’s naive goodwill. Someday he would have Peter firmly under his wing and he would teach him not to be so trusting, but for now, it was a boon for Dmitri that he be that way.

 

He listened to the sound of Peter’s breaths, somewhat calmer, now. That was good, he decided. He didn’t want Peter to be afraid of him. He wanted Peter to look upon him kindly. He wanted Peter to trust him. He wanted Peter to trust  _ only _ him.

 

The silence continued for long enough that Dmitri began to grow concerned. What was Peter thinking about? Where was that magnificent mind of his leading him? What conclusions was he drawing from the information that Dmitri was providing? He couldn’t begin to guess. Although Dmitri was skilled in the art of manipulation, he had trouble, occasionally, trying to figure out what Peter was thinking. Peter was much smarter than Dmitri was, he had to admit. It was only Dmitri’s experience and Peter’s open nature that gave the Chameleon the edge.

 

That was something Dmitri liked about Peter, if he was honest.

 

“Peter, are you still there?” Dmitri prompted eventually, and he was relieved to hear the teenager’s voice just a moment later.

 

“I’m still here.”

 

“I want to help you, Peter,” Dmitri told him fervently. “What can I do to help you?”

 

“I want Doc Ock,” Peter said, his voice equally tense when he answered immediately. “Do you know where he is?”

 

“I do,” Dmitri agreed, wondering if Dr. Warren had enough, now, to continue with his projects without Dr. Octavius. It would certainly be a relief to get the insufferable man out from underfoot, Dmitri thought with a grimace. He brushed his hand along his side, where a thick scratch from one of those infernal claws lay hidden by illusion. Yes, he would like to get rid of Dr. Octavius. “I can deliver him to you,” He said, deciding even as he spoke. He checked his watch. “In one hour, the power in the city will shut off again.” He paused, giving Peter the opportunity to ask about the outages. He hadn’t quite finished planning his reply when Peter spoke again.

 

“Then what?” He asked, surprising Dmitri. The Chameleon considered. Peter was on a warpath, he realized. He was singlemindedly after Octavius. Alright, he thought to himself, nodding slowly. If that was what Peter was after, then Dmitri would certainly help.

 

“Then I will lure Octavius out into the city. You’ll be able to find him in Lower Manhattan. The Lower East side.” It would be easy, Dmitri thought. All he would have to do was tell Octavius that he was free to seek out Spider-Man. The man had been chomping at the bit to go after his nemesis. He would leave immediately.

 

“How do I know this isn’t a trap?” Peter asked, and Dmitri had to stifle a laugh.

 

“Peter, it absolutely  _ is _ a trap,” He told him gently. “But it’s one that  _ you’re _ setting. Don’t waste this opportunity, Spider-Man. It may be the last one you get.” Peter could lose, Dmitri admitted to himself. He  _ could _ . He had to be prepared for that outcome.

 

“What does that mean?”

 

“Octavius is out for blood,” Dmitri reminded him. He was outside Monford’s office, now. He looked up at it with distaste. “He intends for this to be your final confrontation. I hope that you’ll beat him, Peter. I have to go, now, and take care of Octavius for you. But you can call me any time.” He hoped that he would.

 

“Okay. Thank you.”

 

“Of course, Peter. Anything for you.” Dmitri pulled the phone away from his ear, more than a little reluctantly, and looked down at Deadpool’s name, tapping the button that would end that call. Peter, he thought wistfully. He would have to reach out to him again, soon. For the moment, though, he had work to do.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've started my new job! Things are weird.
> 
> So here's the schedule:
> 
> The Neverending Month (Part 6)- Clear Blue Morning, 11/10  
> Truth Like Ice- Extras, 11/17  
> There's Someone Standing Right Behind You- Clear Blue Morning, 11/24  
> Yes- Extras, 12/1  
> Mutation- Clear Blue Morning, 12/8
> 
> Those are all the ones I have DONE-- then I have one chapter of CBM in my drafts, and I'll have one more to write after that, then CBM will be finished. I think I have one more 5+1 planned, then it'll be time for the sequel: And Soon, So Too Shall I.
> 
> The one titled Yes is an AU of this AU and I'm considering doing a fic based on that idea (but probably not an actual spinoff, I'd want it to be like,, more accessible to people who haven't read all the DTTN stuff), so that might go into drafts very soon.
> 
> I'm also working on a new Spideypool story that is NOT this Peter so don't worry about THAT. It's gonna be updated on a different schedule than DTTN, so it won't interrupt your reading if you're not interested. That one's going to be updating on Wednesdays. Not sure exactly when though, it's still in my drafts.
> 
> But I'm running low on ideas for extras. I don't have any more aside from the ones I have listed above. So if yall have requests... hmu. I'd love to hear them. If I don't get any by the time I post the last finished chapter in December, I'll probably call it a wrap on this one and just mark it as finished. So, you know, either way, nbd.


	9. Truth Like Ice

**August**

 

Dmitri waited in the dim light of the warehouse. It was late, the streets outside quiet. This part of town didn’t see much business at this time of night.

 

He was listening hard for the disturbance of the silence he knew was coming. His heart was racing and his chest was full to bursting with anticipation. He could feel the satisfaction of a long job well done coiling possessively in his arms like snakes, ready to strike as soon as Peter came into range.

 

No, no, he told himself in an effort to soothe. He wasn’t trying to bite: there would be no poison. No betrayal. He didn’t want to hurt Peter. The only thing he would show Peter was love. It was what he deserved, Dmitri thought, listening to the click of the broken door upstairs. Peter deserved love.

 

“Peter,” Dmitri sighed, eyes closing as he pictured his young prot é g é , just out of sight. He could hear Peter walking towards him, the heavy iron sound of his footsteps against old steel filling Dmitri’s body with something just as weighty. It was an effort to stand there, an effort not to wobble, his elation nearly overwhelming him as Peter neared. He opened his eyes and there he was.

 

Up on the catwalk, wearing his Spider-Man suit. Naturally. It suited him so well. It would be a shame when Peter had to get rid of it— very soon it would be important for the Avengers to lose track of him, so as nice as the suit was, it would have to go.

 

Peter looked down at him, and his expression was hidden by the mask, but Dmitri knew Peter well, by now. He knew his body language. He knew the silence Peter now presented him with. He knew everything that Peter wasn’t saying, and his affection only grew. He had to wonder if it would ever stop growing.

 

“Peter,” Dmitri repeated his name, letting the sound roll around on his tongue, tasting the one word that made him feel more than anything else ever had. “I’m so happy to see you. How are you feeling? I know you’ve had a hard couple of days.”

 

“I don’t know,” Peter’s voice was trembling. He was afraid, Dmitri knew. Peter was crossing a line he’d never wanted to cross. He knew that things were changing for him, and he’d had so many changes already. More than his fair share. Dmitri would have to try and ease this transition for him, if he could. 

 

“It’s alright, Peter,” Dmitri told him gently, hoping to ease his mind. “You don’t have to say anything. Come down here, would you?”

 

Peter didn’t hesitate, and that gave him the strength to move his leaden body, finally regaining control of himself. As Peter came down the stairs, Dmitri smiled, shifting only slightly as the teen approached. 

 

“There you are,” Dmitri teased him gently, watching Peter for any kind of reaction to his mask. He’d never seen it before, after all; he wondered if Peter would someday ask to see his face. He wondered if he would want to show him. “Are you ready to begin?” He asked instead of indulging that train of thought any further.

 

Peter surprised him by choking out a shaky sentence. “I want… I want to ask you something, first.”

 

“Anything, Peter,” Dmitri told him firmly, giving him a nod of encouragement. “You can ask me anything you like.”

 

“Were you really working with Montford? Before?”

 

Dmitri should have seen this question coming, he thought with an internally wry smile. He didn’t let it show on his face, though. That was an inappropriate reaction to the emotions he was sure were tumbling around inside Peter’s head.

 

“I was.” Dmitri didn’t break the eye contact Peter was maintaining, but his voice was contrite. “We all do what we must, Peter. That’s what you’re here to learn, remember?”

 

Peter was fiddling with his hands, his nerves breaking through in a more tangible manner, now. “Right. But… why did you change your mind? Why did you decide to…”

 

Choose you, Dmitri finished the sentence in his head, the hunger lighting in his stomach again. Peter wanted to know why Dmitri had chosen him. Where could he possibly begin? Peter was  _ perfect _ . 

 

“He was a small man,” Dmitri answered flippantly, debating indulging in the roiling desires flashing behind his eyes. “With small plans. He seemed promising at first— he was quite gifted with his mutant ability.” Dmitri smiled faintly. “But you know that. But he just wanted so little. He wasn’t willing to work for his vision: he would rather hire me, hire Octavius, let us do his dirty work. It was always money, with him.” Dmitri caved to his whims and stepped forward, gloved hands sliding over the cheeks of Peter’s mask, holding him in place as he leaned in, staring intensely into those hidden eyes.

 

“But you, Peter,” He ought to hide the depth of his emotions from Peter, he told himself even as they poured out of his mouth. It might frighten him to realize that Dmitri felt so strongly about him. “You’re more. You’ve always been so much  _ more _ . I’ve never seen anyone like you, and I couldn’t help myself. I would have given the world just to meet you, and now look where we are.”

 

Peter was staring back at him and Dmitri could feel them coming together, despite the fact that neither of them were moving.

 

“How did you find me? How did you find out who I was? No one else ever,” He was stammering again, shivering under Dmitri’s hands, and he longed to comfort Peter. “Not even Natasha…”

 

“You slipped up. I was still working for Montford at the time.” He smoothed his thumbs over Peter’s cheeks in a soothing gesture but it seemed to have the opposite effect— Peter startled, openly terrified, and Dmitri pulled his hands away apologetically. “I had been instructed to discover your identity, so I set a trap for you.” He chuckled under his breath. “Imagine my disappointment when it took you so long to discover it, and on top of that, it wasn’t even  _ you _ .”

 

“What?” Peter looked baffled, now, completely lost. The poor thing.

 

“The drive,” Dmitri reminded him. “In the car at the impound lot. You can’t tell me that you really think we would leave such valuable evidence lying around for so long?”

 

“Gwen. It was Gwen who went and got it,” Peter recalled, realization forming in his voice.

 

“That’s right. That was when I found  _ her _ .” Dmitri sighed. “It was so simple, then, to find you. You never were very careful, Peter: it’s a miracle that no one else ever discovered your connection to her.”

 

The sound that came from beneath Peter’s mask was so broken, so destroyed, that Dmitri’s own breath caught in his chest and before he knew it he had stepped forward, grabbing Peter as he began to slump, holding him up through sheer force of will.

 

“I’m so sorry, Peter,” Dmitri hissed, agony radiating out from Peter in waves that devastated them both. “I never would have let him do that to the girl you had loved if I had known. If I could have stopped him in time, I would have saved her for you.”

 

“I didn’t realize,” Peter choked out, barely intelligible through his tears. “I blamed Octavius. I didn’t think—” Peter finally, finally reached out to touch Dmitri, gripping his shoulders with a strength that grounded Dmitri into the physical pain.

 

“It’s not your fault,” Dmitri told him, feeling their connection finally completing as he comforted Peter in his grief. “Shh. Shh, Peter. You didn’t know.” He pulled Peter tightly against him, hugging him with all his strength. “This is what I’ll teach you, Peter. You’ll never have to face that again.” Never, ever again, Dmitri told himself fiercely. Peter would never have cause to cry like this again.

 

“You told them who she was,” Peter accused miserably. “And Montford set Octavius on her. She died because of that.”

 

“Yes,” Dmitri admitted, accepting the blame. Although he felt no love for Gwen Stacy, and didn’t care much for her death on his own accord, he ached for Peter’s loss. He would go back, if he could. He would take it back. He would save her. He would bring her along when he took Peter, if that was what he wanted. He would do anything to save Peter from this. The guilt was more painful by far than Peter’s grip on him. “I’m so sorry, Peter. I’ll do whatever I can to make it up to you.”

 

Peter shook his head, but he was leaning in, now, taking solace in the embrace Dmitri offered. There was no one else, Dmitri thought, leaning his head against Peter’s. There was no one else who knew enough to give Peter this kind of comfort. There was no one left for him but Dmitri. 

 

He’d won, he thought, closing his eyes and letting the exhaultation of the victory mingle with the sorrow and shame inside him. “I know. I know nothing will ever bring her back. Nothing will ever  _ really  _ make up for her loss. But I’ll never stop trying, Peter.”

 

Dmitri meant it, he realized. He really meant it.

 

“I’ll spend the rest of my life,” It felt like an oath. “Making it up to you. I promise.”

 

“You already killed Montford,” The tone of the accusation struck him like a steel spike to the heart, and he felt his guilt multiplying. He hadn’t understood, before, what Peter could do to him. Dmitri cared too much, but it was too late to stop it. Peter could hurt him, now. He could never let Peter know. “I don’t know what else you want to do, but I never asked for that.”

 

“I know,” Dmitri agreed. “I know you didn’t want him to die. But you have to understand, Peter, that I did it for you. I did what you couldn’t do. I’ll always be here to do the hard things for you, if you need me to.”

 

Peter shifted back, and although Dmitri loathed to let go of him, he did. “I don’t need you to. I don’t want that.”

 

A chill swam up from Dmitri’s stomach like a tadpole, dragging the ice in its wake as it worked its way up his throat. “I thought we agreed, Peter,” He forced out, feeling numb from the cold. “I thought you understood.” Peter shook his head and Dmitri forced his control forward, putting disappointemt on his face to mask the sting of the rejection. “Peter, I know it’s hard for you. I understand. It’s always going to be hard, at first. But once you get past that roadblock, I promise it will get easier. We just have to get you past that.”

 

“I can’t,” Peter said, and there was no bend in his voice. “I won’t.”

 

“Peter,” Dmitri’s voice sharpened with his desperation. “Don’t you want to learn? Why did you come here? To turn me down?”

 

“No, not just that,” Spider-Man’s voice, Dmitri realized flatly. He was using his Spider-Man voice on Dmitri. “I needed a confession on tape, and I didn’t want to run into the whole coercion thing again.”

 

“What?” Dmitri stepped back, eyes widening with horror. “Peter— what are you talking about?”

 

“Tony made me a new suit,” Peter tapped at a lense, his attempt at levity stinging Dmitri like barbs. “I finally got up the nerve to ask him about all the tech he jammed into it and would you believe it? It records the things I see. How nuts is that? The technology that guy comes up with is so freaking cool.”

 

“Tony,” Dmitri forced every drop of disdain into the name that he could. “He just wants to check up on you. He wants to watch you, to control you, to make sure that you live up to his ideals as his  _ prot _ _ é _ _ g _ _ é.” _

 

“Weird. I kind of thought that that was what you were doing.”

 

Dmitri’s hurt and anger rose up, prickling at his jaw as the words leapt, unbidden from his mouth. “I’ve done nothing but try to help you! What has Tony Stark done for you? Built you a new suit? That’s nothing. He still left you feeling alone. He still let you drift far enough to let you come here alone.” Dmitri’s teeth gritted and one hand slipped into his pocket, fingering the remote he’d stashed there, just in case. He would  _ not _ lose control of this situation. He would  _ not _ lose control of Peter. “I never wanted to do this, Peter, but I suspected that you might prove difficult. I think all you really need is some time away from those  _ Avengers. _ They’ve been such a poor influence on you. But don’t worry, my dear Peter. I’m still here for you. And I’ll never let you wander so far away from  _ me. _ ”

 

The clones emerged from the office and Peter whirled to face them, tension lining every muscle of his body as he prepared to fight. It didn’t matter, Dmitri told Peter silently. There was no way Peter could win against all of them.

 

“Dr. Warren and Dr. Octavius never did manage to perfect then,” Dmitri grimaced. “They don’t manage independent thought well. But they manage to follow orders well enough.” He looked up at the catwalk, where the clones lingered, waiting for directions. Dmitri sighed regretfully. “Restrain Spider-Man. Do your best not to hurt him more than you have to.” He looked back down at Peter, who was still staring upwards. “Try not to struggle too much,” He told himself that it wasn’t a plea. “I’d love it if we managed to get you home without hurting you at all.”

 

“Not likely,” Peter turned back to look at him hands at his side. He didn’t look particularly compliant, Dmitri was forced to realize before Peter’s final word rang out across the warehouse. “ _ Now!” _

 

Now, Dmitri just had time to register before the glass of the windows above shattered, and he heard the infamous sound of Iron Man’s repulsors. The wood of the front door was crunching, anouncing the arrival of more of the Avengers.

 

“Thanks, guys,” Peter was saying, apparently to the intruding heroes, before he turned his attention back to Dmitri. 

 

For the first time, he wished Peter wasn’t looking at him.

 

“I told you not to let them see you leave,” Dmitri was mentally scrambling, reeling at the too sudden change of events, looking for an out. The Avengers would be upon them in moments, surely tying up the clones and giving Peter the upper hand. Dmitri would never be able to stand up to Peter in a fight, he knew: even with his experience, the child was too powerful. He had known all along, but he’d hoped that he would never get to this point.

 

“I guess you’re not the only liar around here,” Peter answered flippantly, and Dmitri caught, in that moment, just a flicker of hurt from Peter. “I fell for a lot of what you said, Dmitri, but I guess I did learn one thing from all this.” He straightened his back, his shoulders squaring, chin held high. For the first time in months, Dmitri watched as the frightened child transformed into the god he’d seen a year ago and his determination reignited. “I learned who I can really trust.”

 

“I won’t give up on you, Peter,” Dmitri spat, stepping back once, using the shift to hide it as he pressed the button inside his pocket a second time. “I’m not giving up. I told you that I’d spend the rest of my life on you and I meant it.” Up above, the red-masked clone, faulty, mindless, but still powerful, crept forward and climbed up onto the bannister of the catwalk. “Take him,” He instructed it, and the clone leapt forward.

 

Peter spun and caught the fist that was flying towards the back of his head, and Dmitri danced back out of the way of the fight as the clone attacked viciously. He pulled a syringe from the compartment on his belt, flicking the cap off with his thumb as he focused on Peter.

 

Peter stumbled and Dmitri saw his chance, darting forward, but the hero saw him coming. There was no way to dodge the web that coated his hand and the needle both, and Dmitri gritted his teeth again as he staggered back, out of his immediate reach.

 

“You ought to learn some new tricks,” Peter told him snidely. “I’d offer to teach you, but I don’t like the commute to Ravencroft.”

 

The clone returned, distracting Peter, and Dmitri decided that it was time to cut his losses. He’d lost this battle, there was no doubt about it. The clones were too imperfect to defeat their counterparts; it had only been their numbers that had given them the ability to capture Spider-Man.

 

There would be more opportunities, Dmitri thought, casting one more glance towards where Peter was grappling with his clone. There would be more chances. Peter wasn’t going anywhere. He would be here when Dmitri was ready to try again.

 

He let himself shimmer out of sight and turned to dart out of the warehouse.

 

Dmitri jogged down the road, gritting his teeth with anger and frustration. He’d been so close, he thought desperately.  _ So close _ . Peter had been within his grasp, he thought he’d convinced him, he thought that Peter was willingly joining him. He’d always known Peter was smart, he thought with a grimace. He had underestimated him, though. Or maybe he’d overestimated himself: he had thought he was clever enough to keep Peter in the dark. He thought he could outwit him. Peter may have been young, but Dmitri never should have counted so much on that fact.

 

Dmitri allowed himself to fade back into view only several blocks south of the warehouse, heading deeper into Queens. He would have to get back to Warren very soon— this operation was falling apart, and Dmitri had been fine with that, back when he thought that he no longer needed it, but things had changed. 

 

Dmitri spotted a red and black suit ahead of him and he sucked in a sharp breath before realizing that no, it wasn’t Spider-Man, it was Deadpool. His relief disappeared as quickly as it came, though, when the merc blew him a kiss and raised a gun directly towards him.

 

The thing he had underestimated most of all, Dmitri barely had time to think, was Peter’s ability to connect with the people around him. He had thought he was special in that way: he thought that Peter made him, alone, love so intensely.

 

He was wrong.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Only one more chapter for this bad boy, then I'm calling it quits for the extras.


	10. Yes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In chapter 17 of TCBRRG, the Chameleon offered Peter his tutelage: he offered to take him under his wing and train him, to make him strong enough to protect the people he loved. Of course Peter didn't accept... but what if he had?

**Five Years Later**

 

Natasha looked out the window, admiring the Manhattan skyline, and in the distance, Queens. There was a slight pang of pain as she remembered the young hero who used to live there, long gone, now.

 

She looked back at the others gathered in the common room. Steve and Barnes, leaning together on the new sofa. Steve looked as ageless as ever, but Barnes had earned a few new scars and lines in his face that made him look a little older. He was still in his early thirties, but the life he led was aging him quickly. They were visiting from Brooklyn, where they kept an apartment together. She’d been a few times. It was nice. Not Stark Tower, certainly, but she thought that that was probably part of the point.

 

Clint hadn’t arrived, yet: despite the fact that the apartment building he owned— and lived in— was only a few blocks away, he was habitually late to meetings, and that frequently extended to dinner nights, too.

 

Stark came up to stand next to her, staring out the window. There was a heaviness to his shoulders that never seemed to go away, now. The last five years hadn’t been kind to him, and his graying hair was a testament to his oncoming age.

 

He looked at her, then, and that spark was still in his eyes. That, at least, was reassuring.

 

“You know, you could show some common decency,” Tony said flippantly. When Natasha raised her eyebrow at him, he elaborated. “You could have _one_ wrinkle. Or graying roots.”

 

“I don’t let my roots show.”

 

“No shit. That’s not the point. You still look like you’re in your damn twenties, and at this point I’m going to take it as a personal offense.”

 

“Aw, don’t tell me you’re getting self-conscious,” Natasha teased him. “Soon you’ll be a silver fox. I’m sure plenty of people still go for that. Especially considering you’re rich.”

 

“Yeah, yeah,” Tony waved her comments away, looking back out the window. They stood quietly for a few moments before he laughed, a somewhat hoarser sound than it used to be. “Sometimes I still catch myself looking for him.”

 

“Which one?” Natasha asked, a faint smile on her lips.

 

“Both of them,” Tony admitted. “Sometimes the elevator opens in the lab and I look up thinking it’s Bruce, but obviously it never is. And I’ll see red, just, anywhere. Any time I see that color red I think of Spidey.”

 

Natasha hummed, looking down at the city below, now. She did it, too, sometimes, she recognized with a grimace. She would see a small, quick-moving figure and for a moment, she would think that it was Peter Parker. But the darting silhouette in the distance was invariably a bird, or a helicopter, or a bicycle. Sometimes she would see a dark mop of curly hair and her heart would leap, her imagination latching onto the idea that this time, maybe this time, it was Banner.

 

It never was, though. Neither of them were coming back. Natasha watched a bird fly between the buildings to the east, then looked away.

 

The elevator opened, admitting Clint, grinning, weary, a little bloody, and toting too many pizza boxes to be considered reasonable under normal circumstances. But hey, this was dinner night. It would probably all get eaten.

 

“Hey, guys,” He called cheerily, attracting the general attention of the room. “Sorry I’m late. Mafia guys in track suits got in my way, you know, the usual. I ought to start counting that in my commute time. Set aside fifteen minutes to fistfight what have to be the most comfortably dressed mobsters in history.”

 

“Clint,” Steve snorted. “You could have called.”

 

“Eh, it wasn’t a big thing,” Clint shrugged, bypassing them all to head into the kitchen with the pizza. It wasn’t long before everyone was trailing after him. “There were only six of them.”

 

“Idiot,” Natasha scolded him, just like she always had. Just like she always would. That, at least, wasn’t going to change if she had any say in the matter. “ _Call_ next time. At least let us know you’re going to be late.”

 

“Your concern is touching,” Clint drawled, flipping open the first box of pizza and allowing his teammates to reach in. “Thanks, Tash. Glad I can always count on you.”

 

Natasha pinched him before helping herself to the pizza, and to his credit, he didn’t even complain about it.

 

They had only started on the third box when JARVIS abruptly spoke.

 

“Sir,” his voice was distorting strangely, and Tony was immediately on edge. Natasha watched him as the previous chaos faded into silence. “I believe someone is hacking into my coding.”

 

“What?” Tony jumped to his feet, bristling. “From where? What’s happening?”

 

“I believe it’s a remote system, sir,” JARVIS answered. “My monitoring protocols appear to be offline.”

 

“Shit,” Tony hissed, and Natasha found that she and the others had already risen to their feet. “Someone’s breaking into the tower.” There was a rustling sound as his armor spread over his body even as he turned to dart for the elevator. The others were hot on his heels, not sure what they could do to help, but hell, they weren’t about to wait around eating pizza until he came back.

 

“There is a distress signal coming from the sixty-fourth floor,” JARVIS told them, already shutting the door and moving them downwards. The lights in the elevator flickered. “For your safety I’m reverting elevator control to the manual systems.” The flickering stopped, but the elevator slowed. Natasha was tensing with the anticipation of a fight. The distress signal indicated that there had still been scientists in the bio labs JARVIS was bringing them to when the intruder arrived. She wasn’t sure if they would still be alive when they got there. She hoped so, for Tony’s sake.

 

The elevator doors opened onto a dark hallway. The lights had all been shut off, she realized, and the windows were covered. It was pitch black outside the circle of light from the elevator. It was too quiet, she realized. There were no sounds of fighting, none of the chaos that heralded the presence of an unhinged employee, no manic laughter of an overzealous supervillain, no thunk as a clumsy burglar tripped in the dark.

 

It was a heavy, oppressive silence. Anticipatory. Professional.

 

Tony stepped out of the elevator first, shining a beam of light across the hallway ahead of them. The immediate area was empty, Natasha could see, but as the light pierced the glass walls between labs, she could see prone forms inside. They were draped in something, making the shapes of their bodies indistinct.

 

They weren’t moving.

 

“Let’s go,” Steve muttered harshly, shaking Tony out of whatever thought he’d been having, and the beam of light turned as Tony did, and as one, they moved down the hall, eyes straining against the dark for any sign of movement.

 

Natasha looked up at the ceiling, only dimly lit by Tony’s wandering light. The fluorescent panels were covered, she realized slowly. They weren’t _off_ , they were being blocked. Blocked by—

 

“Webbing,” She said aloud, pointing up to where one strand dangled by itself. Shot, used as leverage to swing further down the hall, she thought, blood running cold, and abandoned. Just like always.

 

“On the windows, too,” Barnes answered quietly, and she looked to find what he had: there were thick layers of web over the windows, blocking out the light.

 

“Webbing,” Clint repeated, sounding nearly as breathless as Natasha felt. “Does that mean—”

 

“Hey, guys.”

 

Natasha’s heart stopped as Tony’s light danced frantically, searching for the source of the cheerful voice. It found him at the end of the hall, leaning casually against his elbow, propped against the glass. His other fist was on his hip, the picture of easy leisure, like he was just dropping by the way he used to, back when he used to live in the tower. He sounded happy and he was wearing a black suit. Even with the white spider adorning his chest, he would be nearly invisible in this darkness.

 

“Spidey,” Tony took a step forward. Spider-Man didn’t flinch. “Is that you?”

 

“It’s me,” That familiar cheeky grin was in his voice, his posture radiating the amusement they couldn’t see in his face. “Long time no see. How’s it going?”

 

Steve took three quick steps forward, past Tony, and Spidey moved then, almost too fast to see. That familiar, almost forgotten _thwip_ sound was the only warning as Steve was webbed to the floor, all the way up to his hips. He nearly toppled, but Clint managed to grab hold and stabilize him before he fell.

 

“Ah, ah,” Peter rebuked softly, waggling his finger. “I think this is close enough. Not feeling real huggy at the moment.”

 

“Peter,” It was Barnes speaking, then. “Holy shit. We— we thought you might be dead.”

 

“No, I’m not dead,” Spider-Man laughed, his jovial tone returning like it had never disappeared. Icicles prickled underneath Natasha’s skin as she took in all the details he was very, very nearly hiding. “I’ve just been busy. Sorry I didn’t call.”

 

“Busy?” Tony’s voice had leapt up, a frantic anger flooding his tone. “Kid, where have you been? What happened to you? You just— you just _disappeared_ , I found the suit all torn up and bloody and we thought— we thought— _fuck_.”

 

“I went back to school,” Peter snickered, and he tilted his head to the side. She’d forgotten that he did that. “I guess you missed me.” His shoulders shifted down just slightly, only for a moment. He didn’t say it, but she thought that he might have missed them, too. But then he apparently swallowed down the sentiment, because his shoulders came back up and he straightened off the wall.

 

“Peter,” That was Steve, his voice alive with pain. “Of course we missed you. We love you. We were so worried. What happened?”

 

Peter was quiet for a moment, apparently deciding on his answer. “You remember the Chameleon, I assume. He’s been teaching me these last few years. I’ve learned a lot. A lot more than I could have learned on my own, that’s for sure.”

 

The Chameleon, Natasha thought with a deep, cold hatred. Yes, they remembered the Chameleon.

 

“What has he taught you?” Natasha demanded of him, and she felt his attention focus on her for the first time.

 

“He’s taught me a lot,” Peter answered, his voice soft again. “It’s been five years: he’s taught me more things than I can recount in a single conversation. But I think you’d probably find a lot of the lessons pretty familiar, Natasha. From what I understand, you learned a lot of these lessons, back in the Red Room.”

 

Natasha’s eyes closed as a wash of agony rolled through her. No, she thought desperately. No, not Peter. Peter was so _good_ . He didn’t deserve to have that all taken away from him. He had been so _good_.

 

But if the Chameleon had been teaching him things she’d learned as a child— how to fight, how to kill, how to not care— then that was gone. He was a completely different person, now.

 

She opened her eyes.

 

“What are you doing here, Peter?” She asked him, her voice switching to polite professionalism. She saw her teammates shooting looks of confusion and worry towards her, but she ignored them. “This doesn’t feel like a social call.”

 

“You’re right,” Peter agreed, and he brandished a vial between two fingers. How had she not seen that he had it? “I’m here for this.”

 

“What is that?” Clint demanded, more of Tony than Peter.

 

“It’s— part of a gene therapy experiment,” Tony said numbly. Natasha felt a flash of sympathy for her friend. He hadn’t been prepared to see Peter alive again, she knew, let alone stealing from him. “We were pushing the limits on the kinds of changes you can make to genetic structure through the introduction of new elements. It’s a huge stepping stone towards the elimination of genetic disease and defects altogether.”

 

“There are a lot more uses for this than you’re thinking,” Peter shook his head regretfully. “I never thought I’d have to accuse Tony Stark of thinking too small, but here we are. Tony, don’t you see what your team has been making? _This_ ,” He held the vial just a little higher, gesturing with it. “Is this generation’s super soldier serum.”

 

Steve stiffened visibly. “Peter,” His voice was sharp. “You can’t possibly be intending to do what you’re implying.”

 

“Not me,” Peter corrected. “But there are plenty of people who will. And they’ll pay well enough to set Dmitri and I up for a while.”

 

“Put it down, kid,” Bucky stepped forward, and Spider-Man tucked the vial into a slot on his belt.

 

“Not likely,” Peter’s head tipped again, but this time it looked like he was listening to something. “Well,” he said abruptly, hands opening in placation. “It was really nice seeing you guys again. We ought to catch up sometime. Maybe I’ll swing by again sometime soon.”

 

“Peter!” As one they burst forward, but Spidey was fast, focusing first on Tony. As the man extended a repulsor towards him, a shot of webbing sprang forward, clogging up the gauntlet. Clint reached him, then, and Peter shoved him hard back into the rest of them before spinning and kicking out the window Natasha hadn’t realized was behind him.

 

The light was blinding, after the time spent in the dark, and by the time her eyes adjusted enough to see again, he was already swinging away.

 

“I can’t fly like this!” Tony was hissing, watching as his nanoparticles tried to clear the gunk out of the repulsor. “It’ll take about a minute to get this operational again, then I can go after him—”

 

“He’s going to have gone to ground by then,” Steve spoke up, still trapped in webbing behind them. “

 

“So what do we do?” Clint demanded, spinning to face the captain.

 

None of them liked the answer they saw in his face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last chapter of Extras! I'm thinking about turning this premise into a fully-realized story of its own but I already have two big projects on the burners. Speaking of which...
> 
> OKAY so here's an update on what's going on:
> 
> This coming Saturday and the Saturday after that, I'll post the last two chapters of CBM. Updates of LAF will continue coming, hopefully every two weeks, but things might slow down a little because...
> 
> BUH-DUH-DUM! THE INTERMISSION IS OVER
> 
> It's time to get down to the sequel! I hope you guys are horror fans, because I... am going to try and write Peter into a scary story, haha. Thanks to the folks on discord, I've worked through some of the issues that have been holding me back from writing it! So yeah, I'll be starting work on that. If there's quiet from me for longer than you're expecting, don't stress about it. The full length sequel is a much bigger project than these lil 5+1s, but I'm hoping to have one out at least once a month, ideally every two weeks, if I can keep up the pace I had while writing the first one.
> 
> Anyways, we'll see!! Thanks for your continued readership!


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